Chapter Eleven

“I'm not usually the one who cooks dinner,” Freddie explained. He looked down at his tomato on the counter. “And I actually lied when I said I could help. I have no idea how to dice tomatoes.”

I loved the way he said tomatoes. It sounded fancy with his Paradisian accent. But the man had brutally destroyed one of the tomatoes. It lay bleeding in tomato paste form on the cutting board.

I pushed the mangled tomato to the side of the cutting board and put out a new one. I took the knife in my hands and showed him how to cut the slices.

“Like this?” he asked, sliding in behind me. He draped his arms over mine, resting his hands carefully on top of my own. His breath tickled my ear, vibrating straight down and activating parts of me that had nothing to do with cooking.

His heat seeped into me, and I couldn't stop my eyes from closing with a flutter. I forced myself to concentrate, holding onto the tomato like a lifeline.

“Yup,” I managed to say. “And then like this.”

I was lucky I didn't s